


Kindling a Blaze

by Fyre



Series: Burning [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new power is rising in the Enchanted Forest, and the Dark One must once more take arms for his Dark Lady.</p><p>The third and final part of the Burning Series:<br/>Part 1 - <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/372538">From the Ashes</a><br/>Part 2 - <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/376760">Breath to a Flame</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindling a Blaze

**Author's Note:**

> To all those who have supported this AU, thank you so much :) I hope this final part doesn't disappoint you all.

In years to come, their names would be spoken in awestruck whispers.

The tale of the defeat of the ogres would pass from one generation to the next. The stories of the rebellion against King George and the brutal murder of his son were whispered across the northern lands. Their ruthlessness and merciless in the face of their enemies would be tied forever to their names.

They did not live in a great manor. Nor did they dress extravagantly or present themselves as anything more than mere man and woman. Their home was a peasant’s house, restored from the rubble of those destroyed when her village was destroyed. It was simple, plain, hardly the home of the Dark One and his Dark Lady.

They were known, though, recognised throughout the Southlands and beyond. His face was still marked by dark magic, and her features were stern and bleak, seldom graced with a smile, save when the Dark One or their innocent, giggling child was by her side.

Within the confines of their small home, Rumpelstiltskin dandled their son on his knee.

“Really?” Belle said.

“Would I joke about such a thing, dear?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, as the little one squirmed down onto the floor, determinedly standing and wobbling on his feet.

“Sometimes, I can never tell,” Belle admitted, crouching down and holding out her arms to little Maurice. More often than not, she found herself calling him Trouble, just as his damned father had predicted. The boy stamped over to her, grinning his gummy smile, and fell into her arms. She hugged him warmly. “The Dark Lady?” she asked again.

Rumpelstiltskin rose from his chair, shedding his heavy, leathery coat. “Indeed,” he said, his lips twitching. “As far as the Eastern ocean, there are rumours of the one terrible enough to command the Dreaded Rumpelstiltskin.” He struck a dramatic pose as he spoke, which made her laugh quietly. “You have quite the reputation now.”

“Words, nothing more,” Belle said, standing up with little Maurice in her arms. He buried his fingers in her hair, babbling nonsense at her, and her expression softened. “As long as he’s safe, they can call me whatever they wish.”

“And I?” Rumpelstiltskin’s smile was wickedness incarnate. “What can I call my Dark Lady?”

She gave him a stern look. “If you keep that up,” she said, shifting Maurice to her left hip, her right hand falling to the dagger she still wore on her right, “I’ll make you call me Mistress again.”

He was on her in a moment, kissing her breathless. “Please do, my Lady,” he murmured against her lips, then yelped when Maurice grabbed a handful of hair and tugged. “Your son is being disrespectful.”

Belle couldn’t help smiling. “On these occasions,” she said, as Maurice threw himself into his father’s arms, “I think we both agree that he’s your son.”

“Apa,” Maurice agreed, climbing up to hug his father’s neck.

Rumpelstiltskin’s dangerous features broke into a small smile. “I see what you did there, Trouble,” he said sternly to the boy. “You’re trying to distract me from the insults your mother is levelling at both of us.”

The boy shoved his fingers into his father’s mouth, and Belle took mercy, lifting the boy away, despite his squall of protest.

“Papa needs to get his boots off,” she said, sitting back down with him. 

Rumpelstiltskin settled back in the seat that had always been marked as his, even in the months between Maurice’s conception and the night he returned to live with them. With a gesture, the boots unlaced and he withdrew his feet from them with a groan.

“I don’t understand why you have to wear those things,” she said, rocking Maurice in her lap. “They’re not comfortable or useful in any way. Why not get a pair of proper boots? I know the cobbler will make a fine pair.”

Rumpelstiltskin stretched out each leg in turn. “It’s the first impression,” he replied. “I dare not look like I am merely a man, otherwise, they will begin to believe it. If I am only a man, I am not a danger.” His lips turned up slightly, sadly. “If I am only a man, how can I protect you?”

There was no need to protest. They both knew his protection was important, for them, for their child and for the Kingdom she had fought for and reclaimed. Without him, without his power, she knew dread would overcome her, even though her people were thriving. They were growing strong again, but they were not ready yet to go without his protection.

Each day, while she worked and directed and helped in the ongoing rebuilding of her village, Rumpelstiltskin’s power carried him wherever there was someone desperate enough to call on him. Belle knew of the deals he brokered, of the prices he asked, but she could not condemn him for it, not when he had done so much for her.

The price was always high, but she knew that it was because all magic had a cost.

If they were unwilling to pay, then they were undeserving of the risk that Rumpelstiltskin took each and every time her did a duty for them. The magics bound to him were dark, forceful and untamed. It took great sacrifice by the recipient for him to bend them to their wishes, and only his careful mastery controlled it. If they were selfish and lazy enough to believe he would bow to churlish demand, when they were quite capable of improving their positions with their own will and hands, then any price was fair.

“Do you want to spin first or eat?” Belle asked quietly. He looked exhausted. Usually, he would eat, but when the magic drained him, and the deals were hard, sometimes, spinning was the only thing that could calm him.

He looked at her gratefully. “The wheel,” he murmured. “Trouble can help.”

She smiled, rising and holding out the boy, who dived eagerly into his father’s waiting arms. He was coming close to his year day, and he was absolutely fearless in all things, which was proving to be difficult from time to time. Belle was growing tempted to keep him on a leash, just to be on the safe side. Since he started walking, there was nothing he wouldn’t run to or try and climb on.

His father was his favourite climbing post, and despite his weariness, Rumpelstiltskin rose and whirled around the room, far too quickly for mortal means, making Maurice squeal in delight.

Belle shook her head with a smile, as Rumpelstiltskin settled at the stool of his spinning wheel, arranging Maurice on his lap. The powerful and mighty Dark One had brought little with him when he had returned to her. The only new objects that were not her own were a walking stick, a chest of child’s clothing and the spinning wheel which now occupied one corner of the house.

Why a wheel, he never explained, but she found it comforting to watch him spin. It was as if the knowledge that he had a skill aside from magic, a trade, meant they could be content if he ever lost his powers. It was an impossibility, they both knew. They only way to sever his power was to slay him, and she had no intention of doing that.

She gathered up his boots and put them away with his long coat, then returned to her seat by the fire to watch them. Unhindered, Rumpelstiltskin could spin more skilfully than anyone she had ever seen, but with Maurice in the way, the wheel occasionally was stopped by chubby pink fingers. Rumpelstiltskin would bow over the boy’s mop of brown curls, kissing them, then begin turning the wheel again.

Sometimes, when the rhythm was unbroken, he would hum a tune in time with the rattle of the wheel, but that was only on days when fortune had gone his way.

Tonight, he was silent, barely even scolding Maurice when he jammed the wheel. The normal coils of golden thread came in broken clumps and dropped from his fingers. He smiled when the boy laughed and let him tug on the thread bound around the spindle, but there was no teasing and his smiles faded quickly.

When he rose from the stool, Belle took Maurice and kissed Rumpelstiltskin gently. “Eat,” she said. “I’ll settle him and we can talk.”

He shook his head. “Go to bed, dear,” he murmured. “I’ll join you there.”

She looked at him with concern, then nodded, though she watched him quietly from the bed as he picked at his supper. He finally put aside and sat gazing into the sinking flames, his hands folded across his middle.

Belle slipped from the bed to approach him. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

He looked up at her, and for the thousandth time, she wondered how any could fear him and consider him a monster. The humanity in his expression was beyond contestation, and the weariness also.

Without hesitation, she settled in his lap, drawing his arms around her.

“Something new is on the rise,” he said quietly, resting his cheek against her hair. His hand ran restlessly down her side. “It has been for some time, but I think it’s only going to grow worse and more powerful now.”

“An enemy?” Belle asked quietly.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. She could practically feel the frown. “At worst, she would consider me competition,” he said quietly. “She’s been gathering power for years. I knew of her mother. She’ll be quite the firebrand if she’s anything like her.”

“Then why so worried?” she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

He looked at her with a tired smile. “Because I have something to worry about,” he admitted. “It’s been a while since I have done that.”

Belle leaned up to claim a kiss. “We’re safe and well and you don’t need to worry,” she said softly. She slid from his lap and tugged on his hands. “Now, stop worrying and come to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.”

He let her pull him up and waited as she damped the fire. When they nestled together in the small bed, she rested her head against his chest and felt his fingers curl into her hair, just like Maurice’s always did, and smiled quietly into the darkness.

 

___________________________________________________

 

There was never true peace.

It was a simple fact Belle had learned at her father’s knee, when she was barely old enough to understand what war was. No matter how much you wished and prayed it so, there would always be some war or other being waged, some battle in need of soldiers, some threat that needed to be vanquished.

Many of those who called on Rumpelstiltskin did so because of battles they could not fight or for soldiers they did not have. Others were much more selfish in their demands, but the battles were the worst. He would come home wearied beyond the telling of it, and she wished she could tell him to stop, that he did not need to provide so great and terrible a presence.

It was like the boots, she knew.

If he stopped doing deals, if his presence was diminished, if it was known that he was staying at home with his woman and his child, his reputation and his power would hardly be worth anything. His name alone was enough to dissuade enemies from assaulting the Southlands, and she knew he did it to keep all of them safe.

Their lands were at rest because of him.

For the first time in her life, she knew what peace was.

It was strange and unnerving at first, and sometimes, she would turn, expecting to see an army cresting the hill, tearing down at them. It had been so long since she had seen a country without arms that she still found it dizzying to look around and find weavers and tanners and cobblers all going about their daily tasks without fear.

She wondered if anyone else found it strange that the land ruled over by the Dark Lady, Mistress of the dreaded Dark One, was the only place in all the Kingdoms where people could live unafraid. There was trepidation, at first, when Rumpelstiltskin walked abroad among them, but the fear had faded when they saw him with Maurice, as gentle and loving as any other father might be.

Of course, most fathers didn’t tend to toss their child ten feet into the air, but then most father’s didn’t shimmer with magic and power and never, ever dropped their infant sons.

On days when he didn’t get called away on deals, they often spent time with the other young families of the village. After the defeat of the ogres, the sudden spate of pregnancies was not exactly a surprise. Relief at surviving coupled with the knowledge that the world was now a safe place to produce a young life made all the difference.

Sometimes, though, they would go into the forests, away from the staring eyes of the others in the village. Just their family. Rumpelstiltskin would paddle in streams with Maurice and they would chase fallen leaves blown about by the wind while Belle watched and wished she could preserve every moment, pressed like flowers between the pages of her books.

On one such venture, Belle and Maurice were wading through long grass, hunting down Rumpelstiltskin, who was hidden somewhere up ahead. They could hear his laughter, but Belle was quite sure the cunning devil was throwing his voice to lure them in different directions.

“Apa!” Maurice shouted out indignantly, swatting at the grass that refused to lie down before him.

“Here I am!” Rumpelstiltskin called, laughingly. 

Belle’s lips twitched as Maurice stubbornly set out in the direction of his voice, pushing through the grass like a ship carving through a wave.

“Bud!” he said suddenly, pointing up.

Indeed, there was a bluebird spiralling down towards them with much more intent that Belle had ever seen in a bird before. 

“Rumpelstiltskin!” she called, wary, darting to Maurice’s side.

He was in front of them in a heartbeat, arms spread to shield them, then he chuckled and lowered his arms. “Nothing to fear, dear,” he said, raising one hand. The bird swooped down and alighted on his finger. It perched there even when he turned around and crouched down to show Maurice. “This is a messenger from an old acquaintance.”

“Acquaintance?” Belle asked guardedly.

His lips twitched with mischief. “I believe you were briefly engaged to him,” he said, slipping a message from a tiny tube on the bird’s leg. Maurice leaned on his father’s leg, staring at the bird wide-eyed. “Shortly before I horribly murdered him, as I recall.”

“James?” Belle smiled warmly. “I thought he would have forgotten all about us.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. “You do yourself a great discredit, dearie,” he said, “if you think you are as forgettable as all that.”

It was said so lightly, so simply, and yet, Belle still felt colour warming her cheeks at his words. “What is he writing about?” she said, hoping to distract him, but knowing full well he was amused by her blush.

Rumpelstiltskin unrolled the tiny message as Maurice reached out for the bird, which took wing to the nearest tree to Maurice’s indignation. Rumpelstiltskin’s eyebrows rose in obvious surprise, and he lifted his head with a smile. “Hmm. It seems we have been invited to a wedding.”

“James? And Snow White?” Belle’s faced ached when she smiled. “That’s wonderful news for them.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s dark eyes studied her thoughtfully. “Would you care to attend?”

Belle stared at him. “A wedding? Outside these lands?”

He chuckled. “My influence is not so limited as you believe,” he said. “I do have power to protect you elsewhere.”

She gave him a look. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, releasing Maurice, who stamped off through the grass to try and climb the smooth trunk of the tree to catch the bird. “I’ve never been beyond the borders of the Southlands.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her in disbelief. “Never? Truly?”

Belle offered him a small, bittersweet smile. “By the time I was of age, it was too dangerous with the ogres encroaching on our lands. I was lucky to see so much of the Southlands before they were destroyed.”

“That settles it,” he said, slapping his knee. “You _will_ go to the wedding.”

She laughed helplessly at his determined expression. “I suppose you are to be my fairy godfather?” she said, leaning over towards him, her hands lost in the soft, springy grass.

“Something of that kind,” he murmured, leaning closer to kiss her gently. “You deserve gems and dances and treasures, my dear. And if I can grant them for one night, for a wedding feast, than have them you shall.”

 

_______________________________________________________

 

Belle felt out of place.

It had been so long since she walked in Royal halls that it felt like she had stepped back into another lifetime. Even moreso for the dress she was wearing, as befitted a wedding, when she was used to breeches and tunics. Rumpelstiltskin had procured it for her, the heavy peacock blue silk and delicately stitched jewels far surpassing anything she could have expected. When she emerged from their home in it, the look on his face nearly took her breath away.

He was not with them, insisting that no one would want a monster at the feast, and as much as she tried to persuade him, he could still be more stubborn than she. In part, she wondered if it was simply because he knew he could never have a day such as the one Snow White and James were celebrating. After all, who would ever attend the wedding of the Dark One?

He had delivered her to the very edge of the grounds. He brushed his hand against hers, leaving a delicate golden ring - no doubt woven by his own hands - on her finger. "Enjoy a day of being just a normal woman, dearie," he murmured, before vanishing into nothing.

For a long moment, she had stood, dazed, and gazed at the tiny, simple object, so tellingly showing that she had one who loved her. Maurice wriggled impatiently, bringing her back to the present, and they set out for the palace.

The palace was beautiful, and more than that, it was intact.

The walls rose in clean, beautiful lines, and sunlight cut in through coloured glass, casting dapples of rainbows across the stone floor. There were banners, long curtains, candles, all the things that made a palace more than simply a stone shell.

It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, remembering her own childhood home. It was once as beautiful as this place, but now was little more than a ruin.

Maurice was equally awed, arching back in her arms to stare up at the ceilings high above them. The number of people had intimidated him at first, which was why the dress had small, childish handprints clutched into the fabric. Now, though, he was growing accustomed to the coos and attention, and beamed at anyone who deigned to look at him.

Belle drifted like a leaf on a stream, buffeted by the currents of people moving through the halls towards the grand chamber where the marriage would take place. The sense of celebration was wonderful. She couldn't remember a time when she had been surrounded by so many people, all of whom were happy. All the same, she wished Rumpelstiltskin could have been at her side, his hand around hers instead of just his ring warm on her finger.

James spotted her almost as soon as she crossed the threshold, running through the crowd, ignoring well-wishers, to come and greet her. He was smiling and giddy as a child with a favourite toy. "You made it!"

"I couldn't miss it," she demurred with a smile, offering a cheek which he kissed warmly. 

"He didn't come?" James asked quietly, glancing around.

Belle managed to draw a smile to her lips. "He sends his compliments and blessings, but he felt he would distract attention from you and your bride-to-be." James looked at her with concern and she patted his arm reassuringly. "I'm capable of attending a wedding without supervision."

"Well, you do have your chaperone," he agreed, reaching over to tickle Maurice, who looked at him with brown-eyed outrage and smacked him firmly on the hand. "He's grown a lot."

"Like a weed," Belle agreed fondly. "Maurice, this is James."

The boy stared at him with deep suspicion, then giggled and clapped his hands when James swept into an extravagant bow.

Belle laughed softly. "He always did like you," she murmured, catching one of her son's hands to draw them away from the embroidery on her bodice.

"And what about you?" he asked. "Have you been well?"

She gently rocked Maurice against her side. "I'm content," she said. "I have my home. My son. My..." Her words trailed off. She didn't know quite why, but she couldn't place what Rumpelstiltskin was to her. Lover, yes, but sometimes, when she watched him, she wondered if it was possible that she might actually care for him as much as he obviously did for her. "My people," she finished quietly.

James smiled knowingly. "Your person," he corrected.

She felt colour rise in her cheeks and lowered her eyes. "Perhaps."

A fanfare rang out and he grinned at her. "I should get to my place," he said. "Snow will kill me if I'm not there and waiting when she comes in."

"Good luck," she murmured as he darted away. She drifted into the sidelines, hidden in the crowd, but close enough to watch him. She knew if he had been any giddier, he could have taken wing. His joy was tangible and she kissed Maurice on the brow, grateful they were there to share it.

The Princess, his bride, was as radiant as him when she entered. Belle had heard tales of the girl called the Fairest of them All, and could see why. The girl was maybe half a dozen years her junior, hair as black as ebony, skin as pale as the snow that was her name, and cheeks as rosy as love's first blush.

Together, she and James illuminated the room.

In spite of her best efforts, Belle felt the tears slipping down her face. She could remember her own wedding day, nearly a decade before. While it had been a day of celebration, there could be no comparison with the happiness that surrounded her now. Maurice babbled excitedly as people applauded and cheered, and Belle caught James's eye with a smile. 

The doors crashed inwards suddenly and Maurice wailed in fright. He wasn't the only one. Belle moved into the startled and frightened crowd, holding him closer to her, trying to soothe him and to see what was happening.

"It's the Queen!" Someone closer to the front cried out. "Run!"

Belle's blood ran cold. The terror in the room had completely drained away any joy, and it reminded her all too well of the breath before the battle. She caught a glimpse of a black-clad woman moving through the water like a shark through the waves.

"She's not a Queen anymore," Snow White snarled, pulling the sword from James's scabbard. "She's nothing more than an evil witch."

"Don't stoop to her level," James murmured. “There’s no need.” He looked at the woman, calm and steady-eyed. “You’re wasting your time. You’ve already lost.” He stepped ahead of Snow White. “And I will not let you ruin this wedding.”

“Oh, I haven’t come here to ruin anything,” the woman said, smiling like a snake. Belle wrapped her arms around Maurice, rocking him urgently, trying to soothe him. “On the contrary, dear. I have come to give you a gift.”

“We want nothing from you,” Snow White said fiercely.

“But you shall have it.” She paced the floor, and Belle recognised the very showmanship that Rumpelstiltskin indulged in from time. "My gift to you," the woman sneered, "is this happy, happy day." Belle could see the way people cowered, flinched and trembled, and wondered dazedly if this is how both she and Rumpelstiltskin were seen. "For tomorrow, my real work begins." The malevolence was thick in the air. "You’ve made your vows. Now I make mine. Soon, everything you love, everything all of you love will be taken from you forever.” She smiled with wicked red lips. “And out of your suffering will rise my victory.”

Hidden by the crowd, Belle's hand slipped to her skirt, drawing it slowly up, until she could reach the grip of the dagger, strapped in its sheath to her thigh. The threat may have been towards them all, but when that included her and her son, nothing was going to take him from her. 

The Queen stalked closer, reeking of dark magic and hatred. “I shall destroy your happiness, if it is the last thing I do.” She whirled in a mess of black silk and scarlet.

"Hey!" James roared, and Belle knew how real this woman's threat was. James did not get angry, but his face was tensed with rage. He hurled his sword, and Belle wasn't the only one to gasp aloud when the Queen vanished in a cloud of thick, black smoke.

The crowd scattered, some panicked, some white-faced, some thunderous and James pulled Snow White closer to him, wrapping his arms around her.

Maurice was screaming in Belle's arms. Belle drew the dagger an inch from the sheath, touching her fingers to the blade, and breathed Rumpelstiltskin's name. He was by her side in a heartbeat, his hands on her shoulders, and she felt the fear knotting them loosen.

"Apa apa apa!" Maurice wailed, reaching out to him, but Belle knew that appearance was vital, and Rumpelstiltskin withdrew his hands from her shoulders. 

"Rumpelstiltskin!" Someone screamed, and what was left of the crowd backed away from her and the man at her side. There had been fear at the Queen's presence, but the blind terror Belle could see in the faces around her made her stomach roil. She could hear the whispers of 'monster' and 'demon'. She had not ventured beyond her own lands since she had summoned him, and the fear and loathing here was even more bitter than those who feared Rumpelstiltskin in her village. Blindly, she reached out and wrapped her hand around his.

"Quiet!" James bellowed, stepping down from the dais, Snow White following him, as pale as her wedding gown. He bowed deeply, his head lowered in respect and open submission. "Rumpelstiltskin. You are most welcome here."

The whispers spread like wildfire, and the flame only grew as Snow White ran forward and threw her arms around Rumpelstilskin's neck. "Thank you," she whispered.

Belle looked sidelong at him, at the genuine shock on his face, his free hand hovering awkwardly by his side. "It's no matter," he said awkwardly, stepping back the moment Snow White released him. He looked at Belle, licking his lower lip uneasily, and she slid her fingers through his in wordless support.

"You sent me home," James said simply. "That's more precious than you could ever know."

Snow White nodded, clasping James's hand. "You saved him."

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged awkwardly, and Belle squeezed his hand.

"There was a woman here," she said quietly. "The Queen?"

His expression tightened. "Ah, yes," he murmured. "I wondered what had urged her to act." He inclined his head to Snow White. "You have made yourself a terrible enemy, dearie. Terrible indeed."

"Is it possible?" Snow White asked, and the ferocity in her face made Belle smile wearily, remembering what it was to be so young. "Can she do as she threatened? Can she destroy our happiness?"

"Everything is possible, dear," Rumpelstiltskin said with a crooked smile. "If you want it badly enough. Only one thing can stop someone as determined as she. Tell me, dear, could you put a blade through her heart, if it would save you?"

Snow White was silent, shook her head.

"It's her or you, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin said without malice. "If you don't end her, she will do everything in her power to end you."

Snow White looked at James. "What should we do?" she asked in a whisper.

"Take your wedding night, my lady," Belle said quietly. "She said she gave you this night. Take it and let her be damned. Enjoy it. Dance. Laugh. Smile. You have this day, so treat it as precious. If there's a battle coming, then enjoy the peace before it vanishes."

James reached out to her. "You'll stay for the celebration, Belle? And you, Rumpelstiltskin?"

Belle looked at Rumpelstiltskin, and could see the set of his features. "No," she said. "We have work to do."

 

__________________________________

 

Rumpelstiltskin was pacing like a caged animal.

Belle settled Maurice, tucking him in his crib, and sat down in silence in her chair. The dress felt heavy around her now, the folds of the skirt constricting. To see Rumpelstiltskin so anxious knotted fear around her lungs, and she remembered well the feeling. Before every battle, the same tension would wrap around her like a stifling cloak.

"You fear her?" she finally asked quietly. Her voice was almost steady.

He was by her side in a moment, on one knee by her chair. His hands wrapped around hers, and she saw a ring not unlike her own twisted around his finger. Linked. They were bound now, no matter what. "Never fear her," he said quietly. "To be afraid of someone gives them power over you. No matter how powerful she becomes, as long as you don't let fear rule you, she will be weaker."

She gazed at him, searching his face, the features that had once been so inscrutable. "You fear her," she said again, certain now.

He lowered his eyes. "I fear what she may be willing to do, dearie," he said quietly. "I deal in magic but someone who is willing to give themselves wholly to magic to gain vengeance..." He looked up at her, his expression serious. "That is a very dangerous person indeed."

She turned her hands in his. "Why? What did Snow White ever do to her?"

Rumpelstiltskin rose, drawing his hands from hers and walked in a slow circuit of the room. "There are rumours of true love lost, of being bound to a life through an unwanted marriage," he murmured. "No one really knows the truth of it, not even the Princess herself. Her Majesty," The word was all but spat. "does not want it to be known."

"Could she threaten us?" Belle asked, her hands folding in her lap. They were trembling, and she tangled her fingers together and squeezed until it hurt.

He finally sagged down into the chair opposite her. "You were in the hall, dearie. What were her exact words?"

"That she would destroy all our happiness," Belle murmured. "That everything we love will be taken away."

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes, his hands folded on his chest. His lips moved silently, as if forming a spell, and she saw the ring on his finger shimmer. She tilted her hand, looked at the ring adorning her own. It glittered with a strange light, and she traced it with her fingertip.

"Protection?" she asked quietly.

His eyes opened, gazing at her. "A link between us," he said. "If she comes between us, we can find one another."

Belle looked at the ring. It was simple, barely more than three strands of gold twisted together, and yet, what he had done, what he offered, made it so much more precious. She rose from her chair and crossed the floor to his, sitting down in his lap.

"She won't come here," she said softly, taking his face between her hands. "You are the guardian of these lands, and I know you’re stronger than she is." His expression was so infinitely sad that she leaned closer to kiss him gently. "My dear Dark One."

He lifted his hand to cover hers, his fingers cool against her skin. "Always your Dark One, dearie," he murmured. He tilted his head to kiss her palm. "I've reinforced the boundary to ensure that no threats can come through, and there are traps for any who would try to come by force."

She drew his head to rest on her shoulder, running her fingers through his hair. "I wish we could have peace," she said sadly. "I wish that you didn't have to be bound to this role and the magic. It would be so much easier, if we didn't need you to protect us."

"Indeed," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against her hand, "but until that day, I will."

They never spoke of what was between them. The words were never said. He offered them, though she could not, and every gift he gave her, every protection, every little token, every bond, only reaffirmed what he felt. The ring, the boundary, their son, every piece was a little bit of his love for her.

He was much a part of her as their child was, and yet, she dared not give him any token or sign for fear that it would sweep him away, like her father, Gaston, her daughters. It felt safer, not to care, not to give anything tangible, anything real.

All the same, she rose from the chair and took him by the hands, leading him towards their bed.

"I never told you," he said quietly, as he shed his waistcoat, "just how beautiful you looked today."

Belle smoothed the skirt. "The dress did all the work," she demurred. "I just moved it around."

A fingertip tilted her chin up, making her meet his eyes. "I'm giving you a compliment, dear," he said, his lips twitching in the suggestion of a smile. "Would you do me the honour of accepting it for once?"

Belle felt the warmth flood her cheeks. "It's not important," she said, though her voice came out a little more breathless than she intended. His eyes glinted and he leaned down and kissed her with a gentleness that belied his claws and wicked teeth.

"I never do anything trivial," he said. "Compliments are not to be wasted."

She opened her mouth to retort, only to be kissed instead. He drew her to him, his hands sliding down her back. Sometimes, she decided, accepting the wordless compliment was much more pleasant than the spoken one. She put her arms around him, as his fingers loosed the lacings of her gown, her fingers sinking into his hair.

A pleasant shiver ran through her as he bowed over her to kiss her throat, even as his hand slid between the laces of the gown and splayed on her back. 

By degrees, they divested one another of the heavy silks and leathers they were both wearing, and he knelt to remove the dagger’s sheath from her leg, pausing there to kiss the reddened ring around her thigh. Belle fell back against the edge of the bed, bracing her hand against the wall, biting down on a groan as he traced the line with his tongue.

“Hush, dear,” he whispered, raising his eyes impishly, grinning enough to show teeth. “You don’t want to wake the baby.”

She reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him up from the floor to kiss him hard enough to steal his breath. “Don’t toy with me, Dark One,” she murmured, dragging him down onto the bed. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He hissed, low, against her throat as she wrapped arms and legs around him and pulled him closer. “Counting on it, dearie,” he breathed, catching her earlobe between his teeth.

In the end, Belle decided, it was a much better night than a wedding would have been.

 

___________________________________

 

 

The Queen’s threat was not one to be taken lightly.

Since the wedding of Snow White and James, Belle couldn’t help notice the numbers of refugees seeking shelter in the Southlands were on the rise. They didn’t come by way of the northern borders, but even if they tried to dress as Southerners, their clothes, their accents, even the way they carried themselves gave them away.

Every house in the village had been reclaimed already, so the village elders spoke with her about the possibility of more being built further in land. They always came to her for counsel, and she knew it was only partly because of her heritage. No one could be ignorant of the dagger that she wore every day.

The rise in numbers concerned her, even so. Their lands were still recovering, and their population was growing too quickly to be sustainable.

While she could understand the fear driving them to seek the protection of the Dark One, in the land where he was known to reside, she could see the strain it was wreaking on him. The defences were holding, but pleas and summons flooded in from every Kingdom, seeking his aid, offering anything he could possibly ask for. 

To hide in his home would look like cowardice in the face of the Queen, so he departed, day in, day out, and dozens of people begged him to find a way to stop the Queen, to prevent the evil that was coming, to keep her at bay. He raised his price time and again, and people were desperate, so desperate, they would pay it.

“They believe she will do it,” he confided one night, when he sat at the wheel with Maurice, who was drowsing in his lap. “She has killed before to get what she wants. They don’t doubt she would go even further.”

It was exhausting.

Belle met every new arrival, listened to their tale, and made the decision as to whether they could stay. She was the only one in the town that anyone would obey without question. If she said they were to return to their home, they would go. The blade at her hip and the calm in her voice dissuaded any arguments.

More often than not, they were returned to the borders and told that as much as they might want defence, their place was in their own land.

She returned to the house one evening to find Maurice crying in his cradle. Rumpelstiltskin was standing at the hearth, his hands braced on the mantle as if it was the only thing holding up as he stared into the flames. 

“What is it?” Belle asked softly, approaching him.

“She summoned me,” he whispered. “The Queen. Called my name using dark charms.”

Belle pressed against his back and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m the one who holds you,” she whispered, her cheek against his shoulder. “She can call you, but she can’t keep you. Your place is here.”

She could feel the rapid drum of his heart. “She wants me to craft a curse for her,” he whispered. “Something terrible and powerful enough to do what she wishes. She knows I am capable of it.”

Belle drew a breath. “Seeking out the most powerful in the lands,” she said. “She must have come up against a wall, if she’s seeking your aid.” She moved her hand in a circle on his chest. “What did you tell her?”

He laughed quietly, tightly. “I told her I have no intentions of providing something for her, when the price would be too high for her to ever afford.” He turned and looked at her, revealing scorching blisters across one side of his face. “She was… unimpressed.” 

Belle swore aloud, pulling him around to face her. “She was fast enough to injure?”

“Indeed,” he said, wincing as she tilted his head to examine the wounds. “And defended enough that magic wouldn’t be sufficient to kill her.” He hissed out a frustrated breath. “I should have taken a knife and slit her open. Ended her.”

Belle guided him to his chair, then fetched the salves from the shelves and perched on the arm to gently tend his wounds. “You could,” she said quietly, “but I have no doubt she has a thousand and one spells in place to kill any who kills her.”

“That was my thought,” he agreed, wincing again with each careful touch. He covered her hand, looking up at her, his lips parted as if he might speak. She knew exactly what he was trying to find the words to say.

“No.” She stood up. 

“Belle, if it prevents all of this…” He waved vaguely in the direction of the village, of the chaos that was building.

“No!” she repeated. “You don’t have to be a hero!”

“I have to protect you,” he reminded her quietly. “You and Trouble.”

“By dying?” She shook her head, backing away from him as if he were a stranger. “If I have to, I’ll command you. You are _not_ dying to save me. Or anyone.”

He closed his eyes. “The greater good,” he said quietly. “Think on it, dear.”

She hurled the pot of salve at the wall, making Maurice wail in fright as it shattered. “No! I refuse to let anyone else die fighting my battles!”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “Your battles?” he echoed. “Dear, this is the world.”

Belle stared at him blankly, then turned away sharply, walking to the window. She forced it open to let some air in, cooling, and she touched the furrows his nails had left in the wood so many months ago. Her fingers were shaking as they traced the marks.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders a moment later, though she could swear she didn’t hear him move from the seat.

“Belle.”

“I won’t see you die,” she said in a whisper. “I refuse. You are our guardian. You are Maurice’s father. You are _mine_. I won’t see you die, just because some witch with a desire for vengeance doesn’t know when to stop.”

He sighed quietly, then slipped his hands down her arms and wrapped them around her. “It was only a thought, dearie,” he said. “Only a thought.”

“A thought.” Her own voice was hoarse and ragged and she blinked hard.

He kissed her hair, then gently released her to go and lift the sobbing Maurice from his crib, soothing the child. Belle didn’t turn around. The draught from the window made her shiver but she stayed there. 

In silence, she brought one hand up stiffly to wipe one cheek and then the other.

 

______________________________________

 

The Kingdoms were uniting against the common threat.

Belle knew it was only a matter of time, even if the Queen had so far done little in the way of outward attacks. A bluebird carried the message to her and Rumpelstiltskin, as the protectors of the Southlands.

With refugees still pouring in, they agreed he should go and she would stay and tend to their lands in the meantime. Before he departed, he lifted her hand to press a kiss to her ring. “If you should need find me,” he said quietly, “this and a map will show you the way.”

“How?” she asked.

His lips twitched. “You’re the clever one, dearie,” he said, the ring thrumming under his touch. “If you need to, you’ll know.”

Sometimes, she wished she hadn’t promised to stop using the dagger, and she knew that he knew it too. He bowed, twirling his arms extravagantly, then vanished in a puff of smoke. It was only done that way because he knew they were being watched, and he was nothing if not a consummate show-off.

It would do no good, though, to stand around waiting for his return. 

She bound Maurice into the sling on her back, and set out for the boundaries, where refugees were gathered again, awaiting leave to enter. Every day was the same, and though most were turned away, some were granted permission. Those with small children often were given safe passage, and the aged and infirm.

“Thank you, child.”

Belle smiled at the thin, angular woman, who had a brood of small children clustered around her, all of whom looked half-starved and terrified. “You’re welcome,” she said, nodding in the direction of the village that was now too big to be so-called. “If you go to the main hall, they will tell you where you will be lodged. It will only be temporary. We have little room to spare.”

The woman guided her brood off and Belle rubbed her eyes. The day had been a long one, and some did not take well to being turned away. Fortunately, the barrier was holding when they tried to cross with anger in their heart.

By sundown, a dozen new families had been granted leave to stay, and Belle set out for home. Maurice was asleep against her shoulder, and she could hear the small, sleepy snorts when she stepped too heavily for him. She twisted the ring on her finger, wondering if he might be waiting for them when they returned.

He wasn’t, but the woman from the boundaries was, bearing a dish, which she held out in supplication. “I wished to thank you,” she said. 

Belle shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “It’s nothing, really,” she said. “You should keep that for your children. I have enough.”

“Please, lady,” the woman said, holding out the bowl. “It is only a token of our gratitude. We had nowhere else to go.”

Belle looked at her. “Your children have enough?” The woman nodded eagerly, pressed the bowl into her hands. “Eat, m’lady. You and your child.”

Belle looked at the dish, some kind of stew made of what little food they had received from the rationed stores, then up at the woman’s thin, pinched face. “Come inside,” she offered. “Eat with me, and tell me of your children.”

The woman smiled timidly. “Your… your creature is not here? The monster?”

Belle’s heart sank. “No,” she said quietly, pushing the door open. She wondered if anyone but her could truly see how wrong the common belief was. She stepped into the house, and approached the fire to stir it to life. 

The woman followed, looking around wide-eyed. “Your ladyship’s home is small.”

“It’s sufficient,” Belle replied, rising and loosening the sling to free Maurice. He barely stirred as she set him in his crib. “Many people had nothing left after the wars. To some, even the smallest of spaces to call home can be enough.” She offered her guest a smile and indicated to the small table. “Please, sit with me.”

The woman sat down carefully, looking at her with fascination. It was an expression she was used to, and had been for many months. Anyone who hadn’t walked with their convoy from the ruins of Netherom tended to stare the same way.

“Forgive me,” Belle said, setting out dishes for them both. “I forgot to ask your name.”

The woman smiled tentatively. “Cora,” she said. “My name is Cora.”

“Well, Cora,” Belle poured them both a clay tumbler of wine. “Welcome to the Southlands. I hope you find it peaceful.”

Cora smiled a little more. “I’m sure I shall, lady,” she said, accepting the cup. She motioned to the dish. “Please, eat.”

Belle divided the bowl between them, but Cora accepted hers with reluctance. “I can’t take all the food you have been given,” Belle said reasonably. “Now, we can share fairly or we neither of us will eat.”

Cora inclined her head. “Thank you, m’lady,” she said, though she only prodded at the food with a spoon, as Belle tasted the stew. It was warm and rich, and how the woman had managed that on their meagre rations, Belle considered a miracle.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said, as she ate.

“There’s little enough to tell,” Cora said, watching her. “I’m a widow. My husband fell in the last winter. My children are all I have left of him.”

Belle glanced to her cradle. “Children are a blessing,” she murmured. She lifted a hand to her head, which was throbbing. “Pardon me. I think I need some air.” She started to rise, leaning on the table. “The day has been long.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Cora said quietly. She was still sitting, watching, watching greedily, and Belle looked at her in puzzlement. Her features did not seem to fit her face, and she was smiling. 

Belle took a step towards her. “You.” She reached blindly for the blade at her hip, but her fingers slipped on the grip, and one leg went out beneath her, bringing her down heavily on the floor. Cora’s face had slipped away entirely, and the woman who was not Cora caught her by the shoulders, smiling in delight. 

“Yes, dear,” the Queen whispered eagerly. “Me.”

Belle tried to push her away, tried to move, but her body seemed weighted down by lead. “R-Rumpel…” 

“Ah-ah, dear,” the Queen said, clamping a hand over her mouth. “I don’t want your dear little demon to interrupt us.”

Belle struggled weakly, her hand fumbling at the dagger.

“None of that.” A gloved hand pulled hers away and the Queen pulled the dagger from the sheath, pressing it to Belle’s throat. “I have a proposition for you, my dear. You have your Dark One. I have you at my mercy. He can do me a small service, and I can leave here without harming you or your blessed little child.”

Belle’s mind felt as if it had gone white. Maurice, in his cradle, asleep, defenceless.

The Queen smiled. “I see we understand each other,” she said. “Now…” 

She paused, tapping the blade against Belle’s throat. Her brow creased into a frown, and she looked from the blade to Belle’s face, then back. Belle could see the moment she understood exactly what it was she was holding, and she wanted to scream. 

“Oh,” the Queen whispered, her eyes lighting with pleasure. “Now I understand. A weak little thing like you, Mistress of the Dark One? It isn’t you at all, is it?”

Belle felt like her world was cracking around her. She tried to move, to fight, to anything, but colour was bleaching out of the edges of her world, and she could barely see, barely think, barely breathe.

The Queen lifted the dagger to her lips. “Rumpelstiltskin, I summon you.”

Belle only caught a glimpse of his face, the look of horror and fury, as he appeared in the split-second before unconsciousness descended like a curtain.

 

_________________________________________

 

The house was silent and still when she came to.

Every bone in her body ached as she rolled onto her side and struggled upright. The Queen was gone. Rumpelstiltskin was gone. She staggered to the cradle, praying and hoping, and screaming at the sight of it, empty.

Her legs were trembling beneath her, but she forced herself to stay on her feet. There was a piece of paper on the table, and she stumbled to it, grabbing it. A message from the Queen, a note of appreciation for her hospitality and the two charming toys she now had. Oh, and she was sorry she couldn’t leave the child, but Rumpelstiltskin was being too hostile not to have a flesh and blood hostage, and babies were so much more manageable than adults.

Belle stared at it, as if it would change the meaning, as if she could understand it better, as if she had not been robbed of the two things in her life that gave her meaning. With hands trembling with fury and grief, she tore it in half.

She leaned heavily on the table, her body still shivering from the after-effects of the Queen’s poison. She could only imagine that if she had taken the full dose, it would have been so much worse. As it was, the Queen seemed happy enough to leave her to suffer: the poor Lady of the Southlands, bereft of anything that made her useful or cared for.

Rage, it seemed, was a potent antidote.

Though her hands still shook and her body ached from head to toe, she managed to walk to the chest that stood at the end of the bed. Beneath layers of clothing, there were weapons which had once been carried in the war against the ogres. There were maps. There was the armour of a warrior.

She unfurled the map on the table, then sat slowly. He gave her the ring. It would lead the way to him. She drew it off her fingers and gazed at it, trying to think what he could have meant when he said she would know what to do. She pressed her lips to the metal, fighting back tears, then laid it on the map. 

“Show me the way,” she whispered. Nothing happened. She searched her mind. Something that was his alone. Something that he would know she would remember. Something she knew he would think of. She stared at it, then touched the ring with a fingertip. “Guide me,” she whispered, then added, closing her eyes in hope, “dearie.”

The metal shimmered and it started rattling on the map. Beneath her finger, it dragged across the parchment, crossing the borders. It skimmed the edge of Snow White's Kingdom, to an unmarked part of the map in the north. Belle took her small dagger and scored the location onto the page, then rolled the map and tucked it inside her tunic.

It felt like she was moving under the authority of another, as she donned her mail and lashed her greaves in place. She only had a short sword, but that took the place of Rumpelstiltskin's dagger at her hip. She felt bare without the weight of it. She twisted her hair into a knot, then took up her helmet and stalked out into the village.

In the early evening, a few people were still abroad, pausing where they stood as she walked past them.

"Milady?" One of the millers approached her.

"The Dark One is compromised," she said tersely, walking towards the stables. "Make sure the borders are guarded in my absence."

"Compromised?"

She turned and looked at him. "The Queen has captured him," she said. "Protect my lands until I return." She clasped her hand around the sword's grip. "I will bring him back."

By the time she emerged from the stable with one of their few horses, a crowd had gathered, all looking up at her with trepidation. 

"Milady."

"You have my orders," she said quietly, checking the buckles of the saddle. 

"Milady, We would come with you."

Her hand froze on the buckle. "No," she said sharply, turning around. "You will stay here and you will protect these lands. I will not see my lands fall."

"Milady, you are our leader."

Her hands were shaking at the saddle and she shook her head. "No," she said again, more quietly. "Please. Protect these lands and these people, and make sure that you are kept safe and well." Her voice was trembling. "We will lose no one else this day."

A man stepped forward, cupping his hands for her, and helped her mount the horse. "We will keep the fires burning until your return, Milady."

She forced herself not to look at them, their upraised faces, and wrapped the reins around her hands until her fingers ached. "Look to it," she whispered raggedly, then spurred the horse into a gallop, away from her people and her home.

She was exhausted, physically and mentally, but she urged the horse on through the night. Only when it slowed with fatigue did she consider her situation. There was an inn, ahead, and she led it into the stables. Her legs were trembling and she could barely loosen the buckles of the saddle and reins. She stood in the darkness, the scent of hay and horses all around her. It only took a moment to come to a decision, and she chose one of the horses standing in the stalls. A small purse of golden thread was left in its place, and she went on her way.

Night turned into day, bleak and grey, and the rain clouds broke, heavy rain pouring in torrents as she passed into the lands in the command of Snow White. She knew the war council was still convened. After all, that was where Rumpelstiltskin had been before he was stolen, and they had to know of the new developments before she went on her way.

She swung down from the horse, uncaring of the guards calls to stop, and strode towards the doors.

"Hold!" She only paused when spears were put up in front of her. 

She pushed the hood of her cloak back, her hair plastered to her face. She knew she probably looked like death warmed over. "I am the Lady of the Southlands and mistress of Rumpelstiltskin," she growled. "Move aside."

The colour drained from their faces and they backed away.

She sought the council chamber, pushing the doors inwards, and drawing on what little energy she had left to walk in. James rose immediately, and others around the table exclaimed in alarm and shock. She could only imagine the image she presented.

"Belle?"

"Rumpelstiltskin is taken," she said, and her voice sounded like that of a stranger.

"Taken?" James echoed.

Belle nodded. "The Queen has him." She walked into the room, wondering at how heavy her limbs felt.

"Better the devil is out of our way." A scarred, gruff man standing at the council table spoke. 

Belle looked at him dully. She seemed to be watching from a long distance away as she crossed the floor towards him and brought her arm around in an arc. It was unfortunate, she thought distantly, that she was holding her helm. It would have been more civilised to punch him. The helm smashed into his face, knocking him in a spin that left him on the floor.

"Belle!" James caught her arm, but not before she planted her foot on the fallen idiot's throat.

"Why have you surrounded yourself with idiots?" she asked quietly, pressing down until the man gagged. "I don't think you realise what this means, little man." She lifted her head and looked around, raising her voice. "The Queen commands Rumpelstiltskin, the most powerful sorcerer in the realm. She holds him in deed and blood. Until now, she has been unable to do what she threatened. Now, she can do anything she wants and more."

There was a horror-filled silence.

"He wouldn't betray you," James said, his hand still on her arm.

She looked at his fingers dispassionately. "He has no choice," she said. "The witch came into my lands and into my home. She poisoned me. She took my child. She took Rumpelstiltskin. She has bound him to her command." Her eyes rose to his. "He is hers now. He cannot disobey."

"Do you know where they are?" Snow White said, rising. 

Belle couldn't help notice the swell of the Princess's belly, a sign of a new life growing there. She nodded. "He gave me the means to find him," she said. She stepped back from the fallen man and reached out to stabilise herself against the table. "I'm going there now. I thought you should know what had happened."

James caught her by her elbow before she collapsed. "Sit," he said urgently, guiding her to one of the vacant seats.

She looked at him blankly. The room seemed to be contracting around her, and all the energy she had left was draining from her aching bones. The chair felt huge around her. "I have to go," she said. "I have to find them."

"You need to rest," James said, crouching beside the chair. "Rest, and we can plan."

"No." She struggled to her feet. "No, I have to go. I have to find them." 

She took a step and the world swayed around her, and she fell.

 

_______________________________________

 

"Belle."

Belle stirred. It felt as if she had barely rested her eyes and it took her a moment to get her bearings, on a soft bed in a grand chamber, lit by the low flame of a fire. Her heart battered against her ribs and she scrambled to the edge of the bed. She remembered her destination, the hall, James and Snow White, and then exhaustion knotting around her like a hangman's noose.

"Belle." 

She recognised the voice, how could she not? It was barely a breath, an echo, but she could hear Rumpelstiltskin. She looked around desperately, searching the room, and froze at the sight of the broad, free-standing mirror.

Within the glass, she could see a shivering, faint shape, a wonderful and familiar shape.

"Rum..." She began, but he put his finger to his transparent lips, looking around as if fearing someone might overhear. She rose on shaking legs and stumbled to the mirror, her own image overlaying his, and she pressed her hand to the glass. "I'm coming," she whispered. "I'm at Snow's. I'm coming."

His lips trembled. "Knew you would," he whispered. The image was wavering, fading in and out. "You're all right?"

She nodded. "Trouble?" she breathed.

"Well," he confirmed, his fingertips pressing against the inside of the glass. "I'm building her curse. If I build it, he's safe."

She pressed her fingers so hard to the glass, that she almost believed she could pass through the pane and touch him. "No," she whispered. "You can't."

His lips twitched briefly, and he shook his head, slow and heavy. "I have no choice, dearie. She made that very clear." 

She looked at him intently, and could see the tension in his body that spoke of prolonged pain, and the exhaustion webbing the skin around his eyes and lips. "What is she doing to you?" she whispered, her heart aching for him. "I'll tear her bones from her body."

"Hush," he whispered. "Little time, dearie." He looked around again, furtive. "Don't speak my name. When you reach the place, look for my markers. I can't disobey her, but I can obey to the word what she has said and use what she hasn't." His lips curved up and for a moment, he looked like his gleeful, diabolical self. "She doesn't choose her words carefully."

She nodded. "We'll be as quick as we can," she said softly. "Don't get hurt."

For a moment, his expression darkened. "I have little choice there, dearie," he whispered, "but I will do my utmost." He looked around, a hunted expression on his face. "She's coming."

Belle rose on her toes to press her lips to the glass, and for a moment, she could almost believe his touched hers. Then he was gone, and the mirror bore only one image. She drew her fingers from the glass, leaving a misty imprint of her hand and looked around the room.

Her clothing was dry and folded on a chair, her armour on a rack beside it. She went through her clothing, digging out the folded and much-creased map to spread it on the table, ignoring the food that was laid out there. Her ring hummed with magic as she laid it down again, and once more, it guided her to the same location.

"Good," she whispered.

It was the work of five minutes to dress, and she sat to eat. She remembered in the urgency of battle, many forgot the necessity of eating. She had no appetite, but to render herself weak due to lack of food was not something she intended to do. The food was simple, plain, and she managed to clear half a plate.

She braided her hair tightly, then pulled on her mail and boots. It was still dark outside, and she knew the rest of the castle would most likely be sleeping.

She folded the map, slipping it inside her tunic, then headed for the door. The hall outside the room was dark, with only a little light creeping in through the half-shuttered windows. She looked around warily, then stepped out into the hall. 

She barely got a dozen paces before something caught on her ankle, and she looked down to see a fine line disappearing into the shadows. Her hand slipped automatically to the dagger at her belt and she searched the shadows warily.

"I thought you might try to slip away unnoticed," James murmured, stepping out into the dim light, the other end of the line twined around his wrist. He looked half-asleep, as if he had been resting in the darkness, waiting for her. "You're not going alone."

Belle turned on her heel, setting off down the hall. "You're not coming with me," she said grimly. "No one needs to come with me."

"We might not need to," James said, walking after her, "but I'm coming all the same. Snow and I discussed it, and you're not going alone."

She whirled around to face him. "No. Your wife needs you. Your child needs a father."

He looked down at her. "You're talking like this is a suicide mission," he said quietly. "Let us help. We can stop her."

"This isn't your fight," she whispered. Her throat felt tight and she felt more exhausted than she could say. "They're mine."

"And they wouldn't be where they are now, if it wasn't for Snow and I," James said. "Belle, no matter what you say, I'm coming with you."

She looked up at him, young, in love, with a wife and a child on the way. Nothing he could say was going to make her take him. She hefted her helm. 

It had to be the fatigue that meant he blocked the blow before she could knock him down. 

“Belle,” he said, catching her arms, holding her still, holding her steady.

“Let me go!” she snarled, squirming and lashing at him. “You’re not going to risk your life! I won’t let you!”

He pulled her hard against his chest, locking his arms around her, holding her until her fury subsided into angry whimpers, then broken, wracking sobs. “It’s okay,” he whispered, holding her as gently as he could. “I don’t plan on dying. But I can’t let you walk in there alone.”

“Why?” she whispered raggedly. “Why do you care?”

He smiled sadly, looking down at her. “You really have no idea the affect you have on people, do you?” he said. “You’re one of the bravest people I ever met. You helped me be brave and true to myself. Now, I want to help you.”

She subsided, standing shaken in his arms. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he murmured. “I’ve slayed a dragon. I can take on a witch.”

Belle gently pushed his arms apart. “If you come,” she said, looking up at him sternly, “you have to do what I tell you.”

He nodded at once. “Of course.”

“Without question.” He hesitated and she looked at him. “This is my family. I’m not putting them in danger, by taking in a liability.”

“Without question,” he agreed.

She folded her arms over her chest. “Very well.”

 

_______________________________________

 

It was a fool’s errand, Belle realised, as they neared the Queen’s hiding place.

The fortress clung to the side of a forbidding cliff, bleak in the fading daylight. They had journeyed from dawn, on horseback and later, on foot, when they reached the limit of the horses’ endurance. 

“We’re going in there?” James said, staring up at it.

“We are,” Belle replied in a murmur. 

They had stopped only briefly, so she could rest when she had all but fallen from her horse on the edge of the forests. It was barely two hours of sleep, but she felt refreshed, though still weary down to her bones. 

She lifted her hand to her lips, and kissed the warm golden band of her ring. It shimmered and she smiled. “He knows we’re here. Watch for a sign.”

“What sign?” James asked, looking around.

Belle smiled as a tiny, flickering light popped into existence in front of her. “That.”

James eyed it. “How do we know it’s from him?” he asked. 

She looked at him. “He came to me in the palace,” she said. “He told me he can use her orders and get us in.”

“He can disobey her?” he asked suspiciously.

Belle smiled, shaking her head. “No, but he can obey her very, very specifically, to the letter of what she has said,” she replied. “If she told him to warn her that enemies were coming, he wouldn’t need to really tell her until they were standing right beside her, unless she told him exactly when to warn her.”

The light flickered and pulsed.

“We need to move,” she said. “Are you still determined to come?”

James nodded, his expression fixed. “I’m not just waiting out here for you.”

“We won’t be able to speak much, once inside,” she said, as they set off after the flickering light. “So before we even get anywhere near the threshold, I have one order I need you to obey above all other things.”

“What’s that?” he asked, pushing aside branches and ducking under low-hanging vines.

“You get in, you find Maurice, and you get him out. Take him. Run.”

She heard him stop dead behind her. “Belle.”

“You promised, James,” she said without stopping, as she pushed onwards. The path was rough, loose stones rattling and slipping underfoot. She used branches and brush to pull herself onwards and didn’t wait for him to catch up. 

He did, moments later. “You can’t…”

“You promised,” she repeated. “The most important thing for you to do is get my child to safety.” She smiled grimly. “The witch is mine.”

“She’s powerful,” James said quietly.

“She is,” Belle agreed, “but she has something of mine and I don’t intend to let her keep it.”

James fell silent, as they continued up the cliff-trail towards the imposing castle. Belle could see the flicker of magic crawling across her skin, pale and dancing, and knew that they were being hidden from cruel eyes.

If the Queen realised, she knew Rumpelstiltskin would pay, but then, he had only obeyed orders as he was given them.

Ahead of them, there was a break in the outer wall, no doubt discovered by him when the Queen had ordered him to make sure her defences were solid. Technically, they all would be, but she hadn’t said anything about fixing holes. Belle smiled. He was too gifted with words, her little imp.

The flickering light danced ahead of them, weaving and bobbing, leading her to the blind spots in courtyards, across the tiled floors, towards staircases. The fatigue dropped away from her, and she ran lightly. James was close behind her, though he obeyed her every gesture, stopping when she stopped, backing up when she did.

There were few guards, only a few black-clad shapes passing through the halls, but with Rumpelstiltskin’s guidance, they dodged them unnoticed. The corridors were grim and all looked the same, but the light led the way onwards, whirling up staircases and leading higher and higher into the castle.

When she heard laughter, her heart leapt. His laughter.

She pressed a finger to her lips, motioning James behind her.

They were at the end of a long and mirrored hallway, dozens of glasses reflecting the hazy light of the moon. Belle could see the shimmer of a face, flitting from one pane to another, a magic observer of some kind, but even as it’s eyes passed over her, it didn’t see her.

She crept forward on light feet.

“You didn’t tell me there would be more,” the Queen was snarling.

Belle edged towards the doorway, leaning cautiously around the edge of the door. She could see a cradle, where she could only hope Maurice was held, and beyond that, the Queen had her back to the door. She was standing over the fallen Rumpelstiltskin, who spat bloodily onto the floor and lifted his head with a grin.

“You asked for the curse to end all curses, dearie,” he gritted out, pushing himself up on his knees. “All magic comes at a cost. I built you your little curse, just as you commanded, but I can’t enact it for you.” He grinned, showing every one of his teeth. “That’s the price you’ll have to pay yourself.”

Belle bared her teeth as the Queen twisted one hand, the hand bearing the dagger, and Rumpelstiltskin was flung back from the floor, pinned against the wall, his legs twitching beneath him. She slipped her dagger from her belt and slipped around the door, cat-footed.

If Rumpelstiltskin saw her, he pretended otherwise, his eyes fixed on the Queen.

“What’s the price?” she hissed.

He craned his neck down towards her, grinning. “Something of value to you, dearie,” he whispered. “Something… precious. A heart. The heart of the thing you love most.”

The Queen was motionless and the room was still and absolutely silent. Belle froze mid-step, afraid that the rustle of clothing, the sound of her breath, anything would make the Queen whirl around.

“The thing I love most is dead,” she snarled.

He giggled, then whined in pain as she twisted the dagger again. “There’s nothing you truly treasure?” he gasped out, his legs spasming.

“Yes,” the Queen murmured, bringing her hands together in front of her. Belle edged closer. She was defenceless, oblivious, all the better to take a knife deep in the back. “Yes, there is something I value.”

She moved so suddenly that Belle thought she had been seen, but then Rumpelstiltskin screamed.

Belle’s mind went blank. She broke cover, crossing the floor in three paces. With one hand, she pulled back the Queen's head, and the other dragged her knife across her throat, hot blood gushing out across Belle’s hands and the blade. The Queen fell back, sprawling on the floor, Rumpelstiltskin's dagger in her hand, splattered with blood.

Belle tore it from her thieving fingers, and kicked her aside to get to Rumpelstiltskin, where he had dropped down, sprawled against the wall.

He looked up at her, and she stared at him, barely able to recognise him. "Belle?" he whispered, blinking unfamiliar, yet so familiar brown eyes, the eyes their son had, in a face that was suddenly not his anymore, pale and human. 

She lifted the dagger in her trembling hand and stared at the blade. His name was gone, wiped from it, and in its place, there was a single word: Regina. 

"No," she whispered, shaking with terror and rage. "No, no, no!" She slashed the blade across her hand and snarled, "Regina, I command you to return what you have taken." The Queen's body jerked and twitched, but didn't move.

"Doesn't work that way," Rumpelstiltskin whispered, lifting one hand to touch his chest. “Didn’t think I was so valuable.” His fingers were twitching and quivering. He tweaked aside his shirt and made a soft, distressed sound at the sight of the blood throbbing from his chest. "Belle..."

She dropped the dagger by his side, plunging her fingers into the wound, trying to stay the bleeding, but it was too deep and too fast, and his life was hot and sticky in her hands. "You'll be fine," she whispered, cradling his head with her other hand, her brow to his. "You stubborn bastard, you'll be fine."

He laughed breathlessly, coughing carmine, his newly restored colour fading. "Tell me again," he whispered.

"Belle?" James was standing only feet away..

"Get Maurice," Belle said, pressing her fingers deeper into Rumpelstiltskin's chest, trying desperately to stem the flow. He groaned in pain and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, holding him close. "He'll help. Make things all right."

"I'm sorry, dear," Rumpelstiltskin breathed, his lips coated in blood.

"Don't," she whispered, wishing she could scream, tear the world apart. "Don't speak."

“Apa?” James knelt with Maurice in his arms, and the child reached out for his father, then hesitated, staring at him, as if he were a stranger. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s breath caught in a strangled sob. “All right, Trouble,” he whispered, raising his hand to touch the child’s cheek, leaving a bloody smear. “Look after your mother for me until I get home.” 

Maurice caught his hand, tugging on his fingers, then flopped out of James’s arms to sit down beside his father. “Apa,” he declared.

“S’right,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, then hissed, his body contorting. Fresh blood splashed down his chin.

“Belle,” James said urgently, softly. “That was a cursed blade. True love’s kiss. Maybe it can save him?”

Belle stared at him blankly, then at Rumpelstiltskin, the man. He had always been there, beneath the veneer of Rumpelstiltskin the trickster, and she knew him as well as she knew herself. And he knew her. And he didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know that he and Maurice were her entire world. 

“Belle…” Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand, as if to dismiss the idea.

She cut him off with a kiss, pouring all her love, all her desperation, all of the need to have him with her into it. She could taste the metal of his blood, the trembling pain in his gasps, and every bit of the heat of him that made him who he was.

She drew back, holding him close, and searched his face for some sign of magic, some little bit of healing. He was gazing at her, and that made her breath catch. He was gazing at her as if he had only just realised, and only now understood just what he was to her.

“You want me to stay?” he whispered raggedly, a bloody echo of those words he once said when she offered him a home.

Belle’s voice broke. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Belle,” he whispered, drawing her brow to his. “My Belle.”

“You stupid, stupid man,” she sobbed. “Why did you have to get hurt now?” He jerked in her arms, coughing, more blood breaking from his lips, spilling down his chin. She rocked him closer. “Hush, hush. Breathe. Gently. Don’t make it hurt.”

“Too late,” he breathed. “Belle… my ring… will you…?”

Her hands were occupied, and she looked pleadingly at James, who nodded and lifted Rumpelstiltskin’s hand to gently draw the ring from his finger. He leaned closer, lifting Belle’s finger from Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder to slip the ring on.

“With this ring…” Rumpelstiltskin whispered faintly. “I love you.”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, rocking him in her arms. “Don’t say that. It means goodbye. Don’t say that to me.”

“Order me,” he whispered, his eyes opening a crack. “Make me stay…”

“Rumpelstiltskin, stay,” she whispered, her throat aching and tears raining onto his face. “I order. I order it. I want you to stay.” She kissed him again, hard, pleading, as if she could kiss the very life back into his body, the blood into his veins. “You’re mine, Rumpelstiltskin.” She whispered, her cheek pressed to his, hugging him close. “You can’t go without my leave.”

“Yes…” His voice was a breath in her ear, barely even that.

She could feel the strength of his heart fading against her fingers, held so close, and yet, she couldn’t fix it, not when it was broken. Magic’s cruellest trick was that it wouldn’t heal what you needed it to, not even if you gave everything.

His head was heavy against her shoulder, and she looked down at him, the face of the man she knew behind the mask of the monster, the man who had saved her and who loved her, despite all she had made him do. He was the most beautiful and perfect thing she had ever seen, no matter what mask he wore, and he was fading away, like the stars at dawn.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered, pressing her brow to his. “I love you.”

His lashes fluttered and his eyes opened, those beautiful brown eyes, the eyes she would see every time she looked at their son. “M’lady,” he whispered through gentle bubbles of dark blood. “The blade. Yours.” His chest heaved with effort. “Keep it. Be safe. Live.” He spasmed and she held him close. “Love.”

“No,” she whispered. “Stay. Don’t say goodbye.”

He looked at her, his eyes searching her face, his face so pale, all colour fading. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He could barely focus on her now, so much blood about them that he was cold as ice. “Belle… m’Belle…”

She buried her face in his shoulder. “Don’t go,” she whispered, against his skin, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t go.”

“Sorry…” he breathed. “Can’t… can’t help…”

She lifted her head, looking down at his face. His eyes were closed, the lashes smears on the pale skin of his cheeks, blood smeared all over him. She drew her fingers from his chest, knowing it was too late, far too late, to do any good, and gently turned his face up to hers.

“I release you, Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered, and kissed him, catching the last, whisper of breath as it left him.

He looked at peace as she drew back. She used her sleeve to wipe the blood from his face, and kissed him again, tenderly, letting his head rest against her shoulder. Her clothing was sodden with blood, and she suddenly felt very old and very tired.

The dagger was by her side, awash in a tide of red, and she picked it up.

She was the Dark One’s Mistress. She would be obeyed.

“Rise.” Her voice was hoarse, ugly, not hers.

Like a broken puppet with tangled strings, Regina was pulled upright. She was reeling and her throat was an open gash, but she still lived. Only the blade of the Dark One could truly kill the Dark One itself.

Belle stared at her blankly. Like Rumpelstiltskin, her features had darkened and twisted with the power of the blackest magic, but unlike him, Belle could see nothing human left in the beast in front of her. No one who chose to destroy happiness could be anything more than a monster. 

When she spoke, it was slowly, wearily. “I command you to safely bear me, the body of my husband, my son, and my allies back to the place that is my home. You will bring Snow White and her child there too, both of them undamaged and unscathed, and whole as they are now.” 

In Regina’s eyes, there was a flicker of something like malice, but Belle did not care enough to consider it. The monster was bound. She would remain bound. She would serve and she would be punished in time.

Belle turned her gaze to James and Maurice, both of whom were silent and staring. “We’re going home,” she said quietly, gathering Rumpelstiltskin close. “Dark One, obey.”

The Dark One’s face twisted, but she put out her hands and magic wrapped around them.

 

____________________________________

 

The fires were burning, as her people had promised.

Their return should have been with celebration. 

It was not.

Rumpelstiltskin, the man, the husband, the father, was laid in the soft grasses on the banks of the river. Only two years earlier, Belle had stood through the night by a pyre, watching the body of a friend and husband burn. Rumpelstiltskin had borne her from that place, cared for her and helped her to breathe once more.

“Belle,” James said softly. “What can we do?”

She held out her hands for her son. “A pyre,” she said. “Build a great pyre. One that even the Gods will notice.” She looked up at him. “Before the sun sinks. It must be. It’s proper.”

He nodded, touched her shoulder, but she pulled away.

Kindness was too much, too soon. She could not bear it.

Cradling the puzzled Maurice against her chest, she walked towards the old stone posts where the bridge once stood. “This is where we remember, Trouble,” she whispered, searching the names on the old stone. Some of them were worn away by wind and rain, but some were still as clear as day. There was little space left. Others who had joined them added the names of their lost ones.

She drew her short dagger and chipped deep into the rock, carving across their names the name of the man who had saved all those who still lived in her lands. Her hand was shaking with effort and Maurice whimpered as she held him tightly to her, but she hacked and chipped and carved until the only name any would notice would be his.

Perhaps it was disrespectful.

Perhaps it was just.

“Ma,” Maurice murmured, tugging on her hair. Like her, he was sticky with his father’s blood, but he seemed unharmed.

“We will remember him, Trouble,” she whispered. “No one will ever forget his name.”

She looked out at the village. Many were emerging from their homes, those who had walked with her, those who had followed her when she wielded the bloody dagger for the first time, those who knew what Rumpelstiltskin had done for them. She looked at the ring on her finger, his ring, and closed her fist.

“Regina,” she whispered. “Dark One. Present yourself to me now.”

The demon witch shimmered into view, baring blackened teeth. “Now, you’ll slay me? Vengeance for your little pet?”

Belle stared dully at her. “You really don’t understand what you have done, do you?”

Regina’s lips drew back. “You chose the weak one. I’m not to blame for that, dear.”

Belle drew a sharp breath. That word was his word, no one else’s. Her hand was shaking as she drew the Dark One’s blade from her belt. It was dark with Rumpelstiltskin’s blood, and she knew her own was mingling in there. Maurice squealed in surprised indignation when she pricked the very tip of his finger too.

Blood was powerful in magic. Belle remembered Rumpelstiltskin’s pain and fury when she first bound him, using her blood.

“I bind you, Regina, Dark One,” Belle whispered. “I bind you with the blood of my husband slain. I bind you with the blood of my heart. I bind you with the blood of my child.” 

She stepped closer, her eyes burning. The words had once been for him, in a time that seemed like it was so long ago, and now, they would protect her people again, as he had said. 

“I bind you and command you to be our guardian, loyal only to us, causing no harm to us and our allies, through action or inaction.” She placed the blade against Regina’s cheek. “You will not speak unless spoken to, unless to warn of danger. You will not touch another living soul unless to protect them. You will bow to me and my line until the sun burns out in the sky.” She leaned closer. “And, dear, if you even think of betraying us, I order you to boil the blood in your body and twist the bones on themselves until you wish that I would just let you wither and die.” Her face was a breath from Regina’s. “But I will never let you just die, dear.” She smiled, bitter and tight. “Unlike you, I do not believe in mercy.”

For a split-second, there was something like terror in Regina’s eyes.

Belle walked past her, turning her back on the woman who had briefly been the most powerful creature in all the Kingdoms. The pyre was rising, and she was thick with blood and exhaustion. 

When James approached her, she let him guide her down to the river. Snow White was there already, and rose to embrace her. Belle’s arms hung limp by her sides, as she was gently divested of her blood-matted clothing, and the Princess led her into the water to wash away the worst of it.

The water was cold, numbing, but she barely felt it. She kept her eyes on Maurice where he sat in James’s arms on the shore. He had been stripped and splashed clean, and now, was wrapped up in the warmth of the Prince’s cloak.

Snow White gently took her hands, scrubbing at each of them with a coarse cloth, and Belle’s eyes filled with tears as she watched flakes of Rumpelstiltskin’s life get swept away by the tide.

“Will you be all right?” Snow White asked softly, leading her back to the shallows and drawing a warm blanket around her to dry her.

Belle looked at the bright, innocent face of the young woman out of eyes that felt run dry. If she could do anything, it would be to ensure that this child and her Prince would have the happiness that always seemed to escape her. 

“I always am,” she whispered hoarsely.

The Princess wrapped her arms around Belle, as if she could draw her world back together, and James brought Maurice to her, adding his own arms to the embrace as well. It was not the same, not as his arms bearing her to the house that was now her home, but for a moment, her world seemed less fragile, less broken.

“Ma,” Maurice murmured, snuggling between the folds of the blanket around her.

She had no notion of how long they sat there, only lifting her head when the sun began it’s descent. “The pyre,” she whispered. “Sunset.”

James nodded. “Do you want Maurice to be there?”

She rose stiffly, her body aching, and nodded. “He should be,” she said quietly, not daring to add that if she didn’t have her son to hold, the earth might as well open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

The pyre was broad and high, the biggest she had ever seen. One of the woodsmen brought a ladder, and she bound Maurice to her chest to ascend, to bid Rumpelstiltskin farewell. He looked as if he might be sleeping, his clothing replaced, his body cleansed of blood. His hands lay still, folded on his breast.

“Apa?” Maurice squirmed in the sling. “Apa!”

“No,” Belle whispered, holding him tightly. “Apa is going away, Trouble.” Her voice broke and she pressed her lips to their son’s hair. “Apa needs you to say bye-bye to him. Apa needs to be free.”

The baby struggled against the sling as she leaned down to press her lips to Rumpelstiltskin’s still lips. She kissed him again, softly, desperately, hoping maybe some little trace of magic might awaken him, but he remained still. Her lips traced his eyelids, his brow, the curve of his nose, memorising his every feature.

Maurice wriggled free, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. “Apa?”

“Trouble, no,” Belle whispered. Her chest felt like it might crack open and bleed all that she had left out. She drew him back into her arms, rocking him, even as he started to wail. “Apa has to go. Apa saved us but magic has a price. Apa paid to keep us safe.” She was rocking with him, whispering it over and over. “Apa saved us. Apa saved us.”

“Belle.”

For a moment, for a terrible and wonderful moment, she almost believe he had come back to her, but she forced her eyes open, forced them to look, to see James at the top of the ladder, concern all over his face.

“Take him,” she whispered, thrusting the baby towards him. “Please, he can’t see this. He can’t.” He hesitated only a moment, then gently gathered Maurice in his arms and vanished down the ladder with him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning over Rumpelstiltskin. “I’m sorry. I can’t let him see you burn.”

She kissed every inch of his face again, stroking his cheek, then forced herself to the ladder. The sun was too low. If it didn’t happen now, then it would be wrong, and she couldn’t let his soul wander between the living and the dead, not when he was finally free.

She fell from the final step, caught by Snow White’s arms, but too blinded with tears to recognise her. The Princess held her up long enough for the torch to be pressed into her hand, and she swayed where she stood.

“It’s time,” Snow White whispered.

Belle nodded, staring blindly at the pyre, remembering the last time she had lit one, where the first flame had been kindled for the love of the man she would burn now. Her hands were shaking so much she could barely steady the torch, but she lowered it to the pyre, holding it there until the flames caught, flickering and low.

Only when they took did she force her voice to rise in the mourning song of the Southlands, the words that would carry his soul with the smoke. It tasted bitter and painful in her throat, and she felt the song dry up as she folded to her knees and sobbed.

Around her, voice after voice picked up the words for her, all those who had walked with them, all those who had seen what the man who was no monster had done to save all of them, all of those who loved their leader and the man who was her Dark One. They all sang for him, and for her, and her heart broke and burned and rose again. 

She took Snow White’s arm, struggled to her feet, and found the words, faltering and broken, but there. Her people gathered around her, hands on her shoulders, her arms, her side, touching any part of her they could, and as the pyre burned, they all sang.

 

_____________________________________________

 

The house was quiet and empty.

Belle pushed the door open, the first slant of morning light cutting across the floor.

No matter what had happened, she knew it was and would evermore be her home, even though he would no longer be there to share it with her.

Maurice was curled in her arms. Only when the pyre had burned low had James returned the boy to her, asleep, his thumb in his mouth. They sat there, in the swaying grass, watching as the flames flickered and danced, longer, much longer than usual.

Someone had spoken, she couldn't remember who, telling the tale of their first long journey with Rumpelstiltskin. Another voice had joined in. A hundred and one stories fell from the lips of her people, their people, telling of a child soothed when weeping, of a woman whose broken home was repaired, of the soldier who was helped up when he stumbled. Each tale spoke of their affection for their saviour. Every tale was a new one to Belle, another reminder why she had come to love him. He was one of them, by deed and word and blood.

Maurice stirred at her shoulder as she stepped across the threshold into the house. "Ma?"

"We're home, Trouble," she whispered, her cheek resting against his tousled hair. The scent of ash and dew was clinging to him.

Belle crossed the floor to run her fingertips along the back of the high-backed chair that was always Rumpelstiltskin's, the wood warm to the touch, and she turned slowly, taking in all the little pieces of him that he had left behind: the coat behind the door, the damned boots they both hated so much, the chest of clothing that had once belonged to his lost son, the spinning wheel.

She crossed the floor silently and sat down at the stool beside the wheel, curling one finger around a spoke and setting it spinning gently. Maurice's eyes opened at the clatter and rattle.

"Apa?" he asked quietly, sleepily.

"Apa's," Belle whispered in agreement, setting him in her lap as she took up some straw. He reached out to stop the wheel, as he always did, then nestled against her. 

She knew she couldn't spin, not as he had, but the she would learn. Rumpelstiltskin always said he span to forget, but for their son, for her, they would learn to spin to remember.


End file.
